


Dying changes everything.

by Rogue1987



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, M/M, Rare Pairings, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 06:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogue1987/pseuds/Rogue1987
Summary: Sergeant Chuck Grant wakes up after his surgery and realizes he's lucky to be alive.Hearing that it was Speirs, of all people, who had went through hell and back to save him, shocked him.It raises some serious questions.





	Dying changes everything.

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been sitting on my laptop for nearly a year now. I wrote this long ago and it was nearly finished, I just didn't have a proper ending for it. Seeing how I've had some serious writers block for a while, I decided to finish this, in the hope that it would inspire me to make more soon. 
> 
> I have no Beta, English isn't my mother tongue and I still have to spell check it. 
> 
> But Grant/Speirs has always been one of my favorite pairings so I couldn't resist making this. I love how concerned Ron was when Chuck got shot and I wanted to explore why he did that a bit more. 
> 
> I know that when Chuck woke from his surgery he couldn't speak for a while, but I changed that for my story, otherwise he wouldn't have any dialogue.

_Austria. 1945._

 

 

''W-wait, so what-you're-saying that Speirs of all people saved my life?'' Chuck asked Babe and Liebgott who were sitting at his bedside in the hospital. He had only just woken up from what felt like a hundred year sleep.  
The doctor had examined him thoroughly, changed the giant bandage around his head and told him to preserve his speech. Said that it was a miracle he was even talking in the first place.

When Chuck did he instantly noticed that his speech was a little off and felt somewhat strained. Frail. As if he had forgotten how to talk.

He couldn't remember anything about him getting shot in the head.

All he recalled was driving the guys back to headquarters and tending to the replacement who had shot some German higher ups. As a thank you, he got a bullet to his brains. But he had no memory of that whatsoever.

When he finally opened his eyes Babe and Liebgott had been the first familiar faces he saw.

He was really glad they were there, especially because everything hurt and truly he hated military hospitals.  
It was always better to not be alone when you were being treated there. The nurses were often vicious harpies who seemed to enjoy sticking needles into them and the doctors were cold and reserved.

When Chuck heard that Speirs had been the one who had apparently saved his life, whatever was left of his brain had suffered a mental breakdown.

That made no sense. Speirs, the infamous man of steel who they called 'bloody' or 'sparky' because of his fearsome reputation, the man who didn't care about anyone, had gone through absurd lengths to save him-of all people.  
He was grateful to be alive of course, but he couldn't think of one rational reason why Speirs would do such a thing. It didn't fit in his MO.

''Yep he sure did,'' Babe hummed, as he handed Chuck a paper cup of water with a straw. ''Drink that, the doc said you gotta stay hydrated. And you can't talk too much, you might have suffered brain damage that affects your speech,''

Chuck obeyed, but not enthusiastically. The water hurt his throat. Swallowing was a serious challenge.  
For once he was glad he got most of his fluids through an IV.

He grimaced. ''Start at the beginning all right? I d-don't remember-m-much. And Joe, y-you tell it, I don't want Babe stammering through it as usual,''

Babe shot him an offended glance. ''Gee _thanks_ Chuck, so glad you're alive,''  
''Stop pouting Babe and sit your ass down before I make you,'' Liebgott growled as he pressed Babe into the plastic chair close by Chuck's head.

''So anyway, you remember pulling up by the fucking replacement of I-company? The one who was outta gas?''  
Chuck nodded thickly, trying to save his voice.

''Well you tried to talk him down, tried to convince him to give you his gun, but before you reached him he shot you. Point blank. Straight in the side of your head.  
The guys in the truck were sure you were dead.  
They brought you back to HQ, where the battalion surgeon told Speirs that there was nothing he could do. You were as good as dead, unless a brain surgeon would pop up from somewhere soon enough.  
So Speirs, who hadn't left your side during all of this I might add- Christ he even held your bloody _hand_ \- went from door to door asking the townspeople if they knew where to find a brain surgeon.  
He searched for hours until he finally found one in Saalfelden. Speirs, doc Roe and Foley put you on a stretcher and brought you to him.  
Then Speirs put a gun to the guy's face and forced him to come with him. Threatened to shoot him if he didn't save your life. The Kraut doc said you had zero chance of survival but Speirs insisted that he tried it anyway.  
Told him that you would be able to come back, that you were one of the toughest men he had ever seen. If anyone could come back, it was _you_. So the doc went to work and somehow got the bullet out of your skull without killing you in the process, or making you blind or brain dead.  
He said he had never seen anyone come back from something as lethal as this before in his life.  
_Never_. Speirs was once again by your side during the surgery. And the rest is history,'' Liebgott summarized.

Chuck heard the raw emotion in his voice, telling him that even someone as tough as Lieb had been afraid of losing him.

He knew his men loved him to bits so he could imagine their fear. ''What about the replacement?'' he heard himself ask. Not really sure why he even cared about his fate. Son of a bitch had shot him, nearly killed him if it wasn't for Speirs fierce determination to save his life.

Babe gave him a grim expression. ''Oh we got him all right. Did a nice number on him for ya,''  
''You didn't kill him did you?''

''Nah, we just beat him up real good. He had it comin', damn son of a bitch,''

''Speirs went absolutely ballistic when he saw him, you should have seen his face.  
He already had the pistol against the bastard's face, but then he suddenly changed his mind. As if he knew that you wouldn't want this. But his face was absolutely horrifying, I've never seen him like that,'' Liebgott said, as he shivered involuntarily.

Chuck knew that most of the men still feared Speirs, though they would never admit it.  
They all collectively admired him for his bravery and strength but at the same time, they still somewhat mistrusted him. For with Speirs, you never really knew what he was going to do next. He was a loose cannon, in a way. Completely unpredictable.

Although, Chuck hadn't been afraid of Speirs in a long time. They had established some sort of bond, based on mutual respect and trust.  
Speirs saw him as his number one sergeant and confidant.  
He left him in charge on a number of occasions when he had something to do at HQ. He even joked around him sometimes.

So no, Chuck shouldn't have been that shocked to hear that Speirs gave a crap about his welfare and yet somehow he was. Hearing that he had actually held his hand was completely unbelievable though. That was an image that he couldn't see no matter how hard he tried. It made him feel strangely warm.

''He wanted to _kill_ the bastard, you could see it in his eyes.  
He asked him where the weapon was and the dumbass responded with : ''what weapon?''  
Speirs hit him with his pistol and hissed, ''when you talk to an officer you say sir,'' Liebgott exhaled deep. ''We were all sure he was gonna shoot him, seeing how he put the gun against his forehead. Hell Perco even moved back from the wall, trying to avoid brain matter landing on his uniform. But in the end, he pulled back, probably thinking that the scumbag wasn't worth killing and told him to remove him from his sight. Only an idiot would talk like that to Speirs,''

''Or someone who doesn't know who him, the guy was a fucking replacement Joe. I doubt he knew who he was up against,'' Babe argued.  
''Come on Babe, even a fucking replacement in I-company knows about Speirs all right? There's no excuse for-''

''Headache!'' Chuck intervened as he clutched onto his bandaged head and groaned. It was throbbing and aching and he felt dizzy, probably due to the starvation of his stomach.

He needed more morphine. The IV in his hand hurt and he barely resisted the urge to claw it out.

The two beside him instantly fell silent. It was nice to know that something didn't change. ''W-where is Speirs?'' he finally wanted to know.

Babe conveyed a worried look with Lieb as if they were afraid his brain had melted in the last two minutes. ''Dude, you do still remember the word orders don't ya? The man is a captain for god's sake. He's busy! Plus, he came to see you when you were still out, he just doesn't know you're awake yet,''

Chuck tried to grin but the gesture hurt so much that it made him cringe. ''So go-tell him,''

''Jeez, and where's our thank you? The entire second platoon has been rotating at your bedside for days Chuck. And some guys from first and third too I might add. Don't we get some fucking gratitude?''

''Stop fishing for compliments Babe, you know I'm always grateful to see your ugly mug-'' Chuck nearly succumbed to his killer headache, but eventually managed to suppress it and slowly continued his sentence. He was talking like a fucking toddler. ''I'm g-glad you two are okay. And I appreciate your concern, but can you please do what I ask without making me repeat the question twenty times before you boys obey me?''

Joe grinned at Babe. ''Sarge is back,''

''Yeah, he clearly has no brain damage whatsoever. Why don't ya go and find Speirs, I'll stay with him,''

''Guys, I'm not _five_ , I can lie in a bed all by myself. I promise,''

''Hey you nearly died on us asshole! You don't get to tell us what we're suppose to do. Do you have any idea what we went through as a group when you got shot!  
Everyone was fucking panicking over you. I even saw some guys crying all right? After all we've seen! Bastogne, losing Muck and Penkala, seeing Hoobs shoot himself, can you honestly blame us for freaking out over you?  
Don't fucking dare to belittle us! Get off your high horse before I lose it!'' Liebgott exploded. Babe managed to calm him down again, with much difficulty but still, but the words were echoing in Chuck's mind.

He had missed the last couple of days, and he had failed to acknowledge how his near death experience would affect his men. He was one of their support systems. Always had been.  
They had already lost enough pillars during this war. Now that it was over, they could not afford to lose him too.

''Joe, I'm _sorry_. You're right. I hadn't thought about how all of this would be for my men. I'm sorry I was patronizing you,'' Chuck extended his hand to Joe, who took it as a peacemaking gesture and shook it. ''Fine, but don't ever scare the shit out of us like that again or I'll kill you myself,''

''There's the Joe we all know and love,'' Chuck said with a painful smile. ''Now get out and let me get some rest,''

''We'll tell the nurse that we're goin,' you need to rest,'' Babe said sternly, his brown eyes concerned and giant. ''Oh please do, I can't wait for those witches to use me as a pincushion again,'' Chuck grumbled.

''Stop whining, at least your alive,'' Babe exclaimed. When Chuck saw the held back tears in the ginger's eyes he immediately felt horrible.

Babe was thinking about his buddy Julian, his closest friend who he had been forced to leave behind to die. Who had died all alone while his friends desperately tried to find ways to save him.

''Babe, I'm sor-''

''Nah, leave it Chuck. Come on Joe, let's get outta' here,''

Joe gave Chuck an apologetic glance but followed Babe reluctantly. They shut the door to his private recovery room with a bang, leaving Chuck with his conflicted thoughts.  
Riddled with guilt he eventually felt his exhaustion wash over him, tearing him back into a deep sleep. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Speirs' face...

 

 _Ron_.

 

Ron Speirs was finishing up a report. These days, now that the war in Europe was over, it seemed to be all he ever did.  
He hated paperwork. Personally he couldn't wait to jump into the Japanese islands. He wasn't bred for bloody paperwork, his talents laid within leading his men.

Carwood Lipton was sitting across from him at the desk, typing something irrelevant on his typewriter. Ron was used to Lipton helping him out with his administrative duties but the sense of loss that Grant wasn't there to help out never left him.

They worked in comfortable silence, but despite of his calm demeanor, Ron hadn't been able to sleep or properly function in three days. Ever since Grant had been shot he had been really off balanced.

Lipton noticed it, as did Luz, he could tell from the ominous looks they shared when they thought he wasn't looking, but neither had the balls to confront him with it. His fearsome reputation still preceded him. _Luckily_.  
If he had been more like Winters, everyone would have stuck their nose where it didn't belong long ago.

Lipton finished the report with a ping and unhooked the paper from the machine, looking exhausted. He suppressed a yawn. ''You all right there Lieutenant?'' Ron asked.

''Fine sir, just tired I guess,''  
''Hmm I'm sure. You should hit the sack, it's getting late,''

A knock on the door prevented Lipton from replying. ''Enter,'' Ron said, after clearing his throat. Every time someone opened that door, he had hoped to hear news of Grant, but so far he had been unlucky.

Heffron entered and gave them both an upbeat salut.  
He was looking much better than he had in the past few days. Speirs watched each and every one of his men closely, even when they all assumed he didn't care much about them. Truth was that he did. Probably more than he should.

He held all of them in the highest regard. Sure he liked some more than others, but he treated all of them the same. Or at least he tried to.

Though he would never admit it, Chuck Grant was one of his favorites, along with Lipton, Talbert and Luz. They were the type of soldiers that never complained about anything. Who just did their jobs and didn't want any credit in return.

The type of men he liked. Quiet but effective. Though Luz couldn't be considered as the quiet type, but his upbeat, innocent personality kept morale high and ensured that everybody was happy and doing their jobs.

''Sir? He's awake,'' Heffron said as he stepped inside. He could barely contain the wideness of the smile that darted over his face. It made him look like a normal twenty year old again, instead of an old man of thirty. War had a way of killing youth. It murdered innocence. 

Ron felt the giant anvil that had been crushed to his chest for the past few days slowly being pulled off of him. _''Grant?''_  
''Yeah, and he's asking to see you,''

''Not tonight Heffron, I have a lot of paperwork to do. Reports to finish. Maybe tomorrow when I have more time,''

Heffron's jaw dropped and he stared at Lipton, as if he was pleading for his support. Or a way in which his captain's actions made sense. ''Uh permission to speak sir?'' Heffron tried.

''Denied,''

''But sir I-''

''Private Heffron, need I remind you what the word _'denied'_ means? Thank you for letting me know Sergeant Grant is all right. I will be seeing him whenever I choose to and I will not justify such things to you. Now get out and let me get back to work,''

Babe attempted one more insistent stare at Lipton but the newly appointed Lieutenant shook his head. Babe saluted both of them hesitantly and left the office, slamming the door loud enough to wake the entire village.

Ron resisted a smirk. Seeing Heffron's so temperamental was one of his favorite things about the young private. He was so much like Malarkey sometimes. They were both so epically stubborn and a tad too defiant to be model soldiers like Lipton was.

Malarkey even dared it to openly question Ron's orders. He had no fear left in his system, not since his best friend had died in Bastogne. Malarkey was a man with nothing left to lose. There was nothing more dangerous in the world than that. 

Babe was a bit more refined, but that Irish temper could erupt from time to time, much to Ron's amusement.

But his amusement and Babe's temper would not go unnoticed with a man like Lipton. With him nothing ever did. The man had eyes like a hawk.

The only one who had been a better observer had been wild Bill Guarnere, if he believed the stories his men told about him. But Ron had never really got to know him. Maybe that was for the best.

He liked to avoid men who looked right through him, who saw his weaknesses. He had no room for them, not until the war was truly over.

Lipton conveyed him sharply, but Ron refused to meet his blue, investigative eyes. He kept his nose on his paper and kept on scribbling.

After two long minutes of silence, Lipton finally opened his mouth, as Ron knew he would do. ''Sir? Why don't you go and see Sergeant Grant? He's on the other side of town, you could walk over there in twenty minutes,''

Ron exhaled deep and put his pen down. ''Lipton, can you do me a favor and mind your own business?''

''Usually I would sir, but this doesn't make any sense to me. You went through hell and back to save Grant's life and now you can't be bothered to go and see him? You sat by his bedside for three nights, and now that he's finally awake you don't care?''

That comment felt like a sucker punch to the stomach. ''Who said I don't care about him?''

''Well to be blunt: you did when you just denied to see him,''

Ron didn't know what to say to that. He pursed his lips together and prayed for patience. ''Wrap things up here Lieutenant, I'm going for a walk,''  
''Sir I-''

''Not now Lipton, I gotta run. Dismissed,'' Ron saluted him briefly and left the office and decided to go for a late night walk around the town. He lit a smoke and halted at the doors of the hospital.  
Grant was in there, waiting for him to show up, hoping to see him. He had been by his bedside for three long nights and yet, now that he was awake, something he couldn't identify held Ron back from going inside.

As if he worried he would be perceived as weak if he showed compassion to anyone. He suddenly thought back to private Blithe, who had told him that he had hid on D-Day because he had been so afraid.  
Ron had told him that all war depended on soldiers acting without remorse, without compassion. If only Blithe could see him now. Sly little Johnny Martin had been there to hear that conversation too, but he had never brought it up when he served under Ron. He was far too smart for that. 

The moon was already high up in the starry sky and Ron gazed at her for a while, doubting on what to do. He knew he had to go in, it was the right thing to do. Plus, he really wanted to see Grant.

Then why was he so afraid? He hadn't been this terrified since Bastogne.  
He threw his cigarette stub into the dirt, pulled himself together and wavered as he stepped inside.

He knew the way to Grant's room and when he came there, he told the nurse he was going to watch him for a while. He halted at the door, frozen on the spot.

When he peeked inside through the glass on the door, he saw that Grant was fast asleep, or trying to sleep. He looked so vulnerable like that. All mangled up, tubes and machines everywhere.  
Ron hated hospitals, ever since he was a child and had nearly died of a serious pneumonia. He despised the antiseptic smell that nearly made him throw up, he mistrusted nurses who were all smiles only to stuck you with the largest needle they could find a second later. However the absolute worst thing about the whole experience was how alone he used to feel when he was laying there. He could only imagine that Grant was feeling that solitude now too.  

His hand was quivering when he placed it onto the door handle. He had brought his favorite book with him -Meditations by Marcus Aurelius- as he did every night when he went to see Grant.

He used to sit by the bed and read to Grant, hoping to wake him from his long night. Though today he wouldn't read to him, knowing that Grant was possibly awake and might mock him for treating him like a toddler.

He stepped inside and lowered himself into the highly uncomfortable chair by the bed. How he had made it through three nights on that thing was beyond his understanding.

Ron placed the chair close to Grant's head and conveyed him sharply. ''Sergeant, are you awake?'' he heard himself croak out.  
Grant murmured something inaudible and opened his eyes with a moan. When he saw Ron he gasped. ''S-sir?''

''Yeah I'm here, you asked to see me so I came. How are you doing sarge?''

Grant tried to shrug but stopped halfway through the motion with a painful grimace. ''Great,'' he rasped sarcastically.

Ron extended his hand to Grant's and covered his stone cold hand with his own. ''You're alive sergeant, that's the only thing that matters to me. They were all sure you were going to die, but I knew you would pull through. You have exceptional strength in your heart. It saved your life,''

Grant shook his head. ''No sir, _you_ did,''

Ron waved that argument away. ''Don't be ridiculous sergeant, you did that yourself. The Kraut doctor said you have zero chance of making it through the surgery. You were already dead, that's what he told me. Said I should give you up,''

''Why-why didn't you?''  
The question lingered in the air for a long time. Ron was unsure what to say to that.

Why hadn't he let Grant go? Why was it so hard for him to do that, while he had lost more men during the war than he could have counted.

Why was Grant so special to him that he would have moved the earth itself to save him. He would have done anything to get him back. Anything.

But why? ''You are special sergeant,'' he bluntly said.  
''No more than Muck, Guarnere or Luz or-''

''You are special to me,'' Ron specified, ''I'm not talking about the group, I'm talking about how much you mean to me,''

Grant blinked at him, jaw faltering slowly. ''Why?''

Ron swore under his tongue. He was feeling so many things that he could barely understand them himself at this point. ''You're the only one who sees the real me. Who isn't scared of me. The only one who knows me. So yes I'm very- _fond_ of you,''

Grant smiled, as a mischievous blush slid over his face. ''Just fond?''

Ron stood from his chair and sank onto the bed beside Grant. He collected his hand again. His heart was hammering in his chest. ''Maybe a bit more than that,''

Grant's hand was clamping onto his for dear life. ''All right then,''

Ron was so overwhelmed with the need to feel Chuck closer to his body, to literally feel the heartbeat pumping against his fingers that he decided to do something he had never done before. He crossed that invisible line between himself and his men. Because Chuck wasn't just one of his soldiers, he was far more than that. Perhaps he always had been. Ron just hadn't realized it until he had nearly died on him. 

He wrapped his arm around Chuck and carefully pulled him close, so that his sergeant's mangled head was resting against his shoulder. Chuck's arms came around his waist and his face got impossibly close to Ron's.

His nose was brushing slightly against Ron's chin. Chuck's eyes had fluttered closed again, due to exhaustion.

Ron placed a small kiss to Chuck's temple. ''Get some rest Chuck, I'll be here,''  
''I know,''

When Ron's eyes started to ache as well, a thin voice erupted from the comfortable silence. ''Hey Ron?''  
''Yeah?''

''Thank you-for not-giving up-on me,''  
Ron smiled into Chuck's hair. _''Never,''_

And Ron found himself thinking, _hoping_ , that maybe, if they were very lucky, they might be all right after all.

 

 

 

 

 

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> So did you like it? Please let me know. Insecure writers like me need the feedback and the kudos to keep our motivation up.
> 
> I'm not a hundred percent content with the ending but I've run out of ideas how else to write it. Endings are hard man. They really are. They always kick my ass.


End file.
